Page 117 of Perfect Pitch

My mother rests back against the plush chair. With a weary smile, she doesn’t say anything. After all, what can be said when two women suffer the effects of men’s lies—just with a twenty-year separation.

I take a deep breath and bring up something crucial. “My six-month lease with Trevor is almost up.”

Her eyes lose their tragic sadness as she snaps back to the present. “Are you thinking of moving?”

Before, I wasn’t, even though Mitch had put the idea in my mind. Now? “I need my own space. I need to figure out who Austyn Kensington is and I’m not certain I’ll be able to do that living with someone else.”

My mother rests her head against mine. “Well, just from my viewpoint, I know her pretty well. I think she’s fantastic.”

I twist my head so my forehead rests against my mother’s temple. “That’s because she had the best parent in the world.”

And for long minutes as we hurl through the sky, neither of us says a word as we rely upon the other’s strength to get us through this discord. I let the child inside of me hurt like I haven’t in years which is why I don’t try to stop the tear that falls from the corner of my eye.

There must be something wrong with me for men to feel it’s perfectly acceptable to betray my heart. And on that thought, my stomach pitches. I spring up from my chair and race to the lavatory—suddenly afraid I’m going to be violently ill.

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

If you haven’t checked out Saks’ new line this year, do so.

DJ Kensington was spotted shopping there. Her edgy style screams Stella McCartney with a twist of Alexander McQueen layered with Free People. It’s young, vibrant, and in-your-face—just like she is.

—Eva Henn, Fashion Blogger

We both take care dressing. After a whirlwind few days which included shopping at Saks where the shopping assistant and I urged my mother to buy a dress with a “Kensington stand collar,” we headed to a Realtor.

Within hours, I found myself signing a year-long lease on a one bedroom, one bath pre-war co-op unit that’s small but comparable in rent to what I’m paying now. My mother insisted on paying the movers herself. “And I’ll help you pack,” she declared.

“Mama, you didn’t take weeks off work to help me pack,” I protest.

“No, I took weeks off of work to be with my daughter in whatever manner or fashion she needs me,” she counters.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

The sunlight catches my gold signet ring when I lift my hand holding the bag containing my early Christmas presents. “And let me say for the eight hundredth time, you spoiled me too much today.”

“That was entirely my pleasure.”

A sigh escapes my lips when I recall sliding my feet into the red-soled shoes for the first time knowing I’d be leaving with a pair. “Can’t say it was.”

The curve of her lips is wry. “Next to you in that, I feel very much like a mother, Austyn.”

My snort rings out. “Yeah, sure. Maybe in the same way Grace Kelly resembled a mother.”

Faint color tinges her cheeks at the compliment, but she doesn’t remark on it. Instead, she says, “The outfit you picked for tomorrow is incredibly you, darling.”

I surge to my feet, not wanting to linger over thoughts of tomorrow and all the tomorrows thereafter.

“Austyn? We can cancel the meeting,” my mother informs me carefully.

I twist a braid around my fingers but quickly drop it, remembering the last time Mitch had his hands wrapped in them. He’s stopped texting. It’s what I wanted, I assure myself. But right now, with tomorrow looming ahead like a sentence to the gallows, part of me wishes I had someone to talk with about the convergence of emotions crashing over me who I know would keep their silence.

And I know he’s all too good at that, the pain in my heart reminds me.

Expelling my breath, I reply, “If it will hurt you and our family, then we’ll stop now.”

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